


James Watson and the Curious Case of the Jarnul

by galactic-pirates (stillsearching47)



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: I'm not tagging for CSI I really just used it so I didn't have to name a couple of detectives, M/M, Minor references to rape and violence (they are hunting a serial killer), Multi, minor crossover, this is why I rated it M just to be on the safe side though really it's very mild IMO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillsearching47/pseuds/galactic-pirates
Summary: A serial killer is stalking Las Vegas.The Sanctuary network is alerted when Jarnul toxin is sampled from the bodies. James Watson, detective supreme, is the natural choice to investigate. Ably assisted by John Druitt, James soon discovers the killers hunting ground, sending them to the club - club Myriad.
Relationships: Montague John Druitt/Helen Magnus/James Watson, Montague John Druitt/James Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	James Watson and the Curious Case of the Jarnul

**Author's Note:**

> Technically I suppose this could take place after the events of my fic _Our Darkest Hour_ but you don't need to read that to understand this. Just know it's an alternate future where James never died, John is freed from the energy creature and the three of them are back together (wait I think I summarised that in the fic). Anyway, this is just a bit of fun. I had a couple of images in my head and just had to make it a thing.
> 
> I illustrated James and John at the club. The drawing is on my tumblr - https://galactic-pirates.tumblr.com/post/642002509360201728/a-serial-killer-is-stalking-las-vegas-the

Helen frowned, a crease forming deep in her brow, as she studied the report on her computer screen. Evening had fallen on Old City, the lights in the new city across the river twinkled in the twilight. The lamps in her office burned creating a cosy glow. It was late spring but this far north on the west coast, it could still get chilly after the sun went down. Over the last year, her pattern had been to stop work for the night about this time, but there were always exceptions and this would definitely qualify.

“Oh I know that look,” James said with fond amusement.

“Yes I do believe our evening plans are about to change,” John agreed.

“James take a look at this,” Helen said distractedly.

She glanced over to where the two men stood, just a few feet from the doorway of her office. John was in shirt sleeves, a charcoal grey polo neck, but they’d yet to break James of the habit of wearing his jacket. He’d shed it while working but if he had to roam the Sanctuary he always put it back on, even in the heat of summer. James and John exchanged a glance and moved so they were behind her, peering over her shoulder.

“Lab report,” James murmured, his eyes scanning the document. “Jarnul toxin.”

Helen nodded. “The Vegas crime lab couldn’t identify it, so they sent it to the national poison service for identification. That’s how we flagged it.”

“Where did they get the sample?” John asked.

“That’s what I want your opinion on James.” Helen sighed. “The Jarnul toxin has been sampled from three dead bodies over the last two weeks. The bodies were found in pairs so there have been six deaths in total. The last pair appeared just days after the previous set was found.”

“Classic escalation,” James said grimly. “They are looking for a serial killer.”

The silence after ‘serial killer’ echoed. Helen swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, all too aware of John over her right shoulder. None of them would ever be able to think of the term ‘serial killer’ without it conjuring up all the emotions of the Ripper case. They’d learned a year ago that John hadn’t been in control of himself, that an energy abnormal had compelled him to kill. He hadn’t been host to a monster for a year but it had still taken months for trust to build between the three of them. Hardly surprising given they had to get past a century of pain. They were now reconciled, and very happy together, but it hadn’t been an easy road to get here.

“And we need to find them first.” Helen nodded. “Either it’s a Jarnul, in which case the Sanctuary will need to take custody as a normal prison would be out of the question…”

“Or somebody is aware of what Jarnul toxin does and has managed to extract it,” James finished. “Although I find it much more likely that we are dealing with a Jarnul. The Jarnul toxin has a notoriously short shelf-life, that’s why it has never had any appeal as a Red List good, even though a diluted form would no doubt be a very popular party drug. It’s just simply not viable.”

“We have a drug that can suppress the Jarnul’s abilities for approximately twenty hours,” Helen reminded them. “Enough time to be able to take custody from the local police, but we’d still need to find it first.”

“Hmm,” James hummed, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

Helen twisted to look at him expectantly. James Watson, detective supreme, hadn’t actively worked with law enforcement for decades. In order to hide his unnaturally long lifespan he’d had to retire, and then practices had changed. Consultant detectives had never been in vogue, but back in the day a man of James’ skills had been welcome enough. However, in the era where everyone had to fit into a paperwork box that was no longer the case. Still James was the natural choice for this particular Sanctuary mission. The real question was whether he would feel comfortable taking it given how his last ‘serial killer’ case had turned out.

“I’ll need some kind of cover identity,” James mused. “While I could work the case from the outside, it would be far quicker and easier if I had access to the evidence.”

“Federal profiler I think,” Helen decided. “The jurisdiction is still with the Sheriff’s department but a case like this will be attracting attention, a task force is an inevitability, it shouldn’t be difficult for our contacts to arrange.”

“What about me?” John asked.

Helen blinked. Although she supposed that made sense. Before she’d found John in Whitechapel, bringing to light what she’d thought at the time was the truth of the Ripper mess, John had always been James’ sounding board. In many ways John was Watson to James’ Holmes, though Helen had never actually asked James if Conan Doyle had based Holmes’ sidekick on James’ stories of John. She looked at James to see if he had an opinion on the matter. James looked pensive, his eyes on the faraway past, before he summoned a weak smile and nodded.

“I’d welcome your insights,” James agreed. “Senior profiler and assistant perhaps?”

John barked with laughter. “Always a pleasure James.”

This time James’ smile met his eyes and Helen’s chest unclenched, as the tension flowed out of her. Oh John still might get maudlin, mired in guilt over what he’d had no control over. James might still get snappy and impatient, feeling the weight of impotence over what he’d failed to see. But for now the two loves of her life weren’t letting any summoned memories overcome them. Helen had absolute confidence that the case would soon be solved. Seeing as they were in Vegas, she’d even be tempted to bet that it would be case closed within forty-eight hours.

“The case is being run by the graveyard shift,” Helen told them. “I’ll make the necessary calls, you should be able to leave in an hour.”

“Then I'd best go and change into a suit,” John murmured.

He pressed a brief kiss to Helen’s cheek and headed out of the office. Helen clasped James’ hand, the question unvoiced in her eyes. Now John wasn’t here, she just wanted to be sure that James wasn’t putting on a brave front. There were other Sanctuary teams, Will would be a good second choice. He wasn’t James but he had plenty of experience between the FBI and his time with the Old City police department.

“I’m fine Helen. I think we both are. If this had cropped up a few months ago then it might have been different but we’ve talked it all through, countless times,” James reassured. He squeezed her hand and Helen rose to her feet.

She cupped his cheek and gave him a lingering kiss. “Then I’ll make those calls.”

*****

James took a breath the moment he walked into the Vegas police station. The noise was always the first thing he noticed. The hum of conversation, multiple phones ringing, the rattling of the air system, at least one person being belligerent, their voice rising above the general hubbub. The second thing he noticed was the lights, this police station had a lot of glass walls, which bounced the light around. It was a modern space, well suited for Vegas which was all bright lights but the tiled floor was worn, the chairs were plastic, the effect was more stark than elegant. That was before he took in the smells of body odour, from too many people working in the same space, the sharp scent of antiseptic which didn’t quite mask the vomit likely from someone who’d enjoyed the party a little too much.

It was very different from the police stations he remembered. There was no miasma of smoke creating a haze in the air for a start. However, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Excepting the tobacco smoke, the odour of the building was remarkably familiar. He glanced to his right, to see John at his shoulder, a faint look of disquiet on his face. James wondered when John had last been in a police station, or if he had managed to successfully avoid them. It wasn’t a question he would ask but he’d listen if John chose to talk about it.

“This way I think,” James muttered.

He moved with purpose down the side corridor, bypassing reception. It would have been proper to introduce himself, present the ID Henry had mocked up, and ask to be taken to the detective in charge. However, he rather thought the element of surprise would work better in this case. He needed to get their measure, and fast, because they weren’t just here to solve the case - they needed to lay hands on the perpetrator first, which would mean outwitting the people they would soon be working with. The interrogation rooms were on the right, and so unless he missed his guess, for a big case like this they’d likely set up a case room, and they’d probably be on the left.

It was the second door down. A freestanding whiteboard had been set up. It had a few photos and documents fixed to it, along with some neat writing summarising key details. On the wall there was a large noticeboard, on which photographs were pinned in neat rows. A large table was in the center of the remaining space, liberally covered with papers. Some of them spilling out of brown folders, others laid out in a more regimented manner.

James paused at the doorway. There were three people in the room. A young man, early thirties James estimated, clean-shaven with dark short hair was standing by the table. There were two older men. One was solidly built, short in stature with a mismatched jacket and trousers rather than a proper suit. The other older gentleman had dark silver hair and beard, dressed in a loose-fitting shirt and jacket, very similar to what Doctor Zimmerman favoured when the boy wasn’t in t-shirts.

“They’ll get here, when they get here man,” the young guy pointed out.

“It could be a good thing,” the silvered hair man shrugged. “The evidence isn’t exactly screaming at us right now. We could use the help.”

“I don’t like Fed’s poking around my case,” the last man growled.

“Feds reporting for duty,” John quipped, raising his hand.

James rolled his eyes and followed John into the room. “Doctor James Watson, and John Druitt. You’re obviously expecting us.”

Helen could have given them different names when she’d arranged for the cover positions, but there had been no need. Outside of the abnormal community their names held no meaning. James wandered over to the whiteboard, nodding in abstract acknowledgement as the three Vegas officers introduced themselves: Nick Stokes and Grissom as CSI’s, the younger man and the older gentleman with the silver hair respectively, and Captain Brass as presumably the lead detective on the case.

There hadn’t been many details attached to the toxin file but he’d expected much of what he was seeing now. Each pair of men had died the same way. One had been raped and brutally assaulted, dying from blunt force trauma, with all the other evidence suggesting the second victim was responsible. The second victim was the one that had the Jarnul toxin inside them, which is what would have caused their violent sexual attack. They had died from a single gunshot to the head. There was no gunshot residue around the wound, it had obviously been fired from a distance so murder/suicide would never have been a theory even before the second set of bodies had appeared. The bodies had been wrapped in plastic, moved and dumped. The plastic sheeting was from construction, could be easily found hundreds of places, and there was no other connecting trace. Their serial killer was careful not to leave anything of themselves behind.

“Tell me about the victims?” James asked.

That would be the key. If they could find where the killer was choosing his victims, then they would be able to find them.

“Hey yeah we could use your expertise on that because we got nothing,” Nick admitted. “We looked for all the usual links but these guys lived all over Vegas; three white guys, two black and a hispanic, they all have different jobs, different income brackets, they eat at different restaurants, use different dry cleaners. I mean all we got is they are all aged between twenty and forty five, they’re men and they all died the same way.”

“Hmm,” James hummed thoughtfully. “Family?”

“One guy was married, two young kids, one was a student, another one lived at home with his parents. I mean they are all over the map,” Nick explained.

“Were they homosexuals?” John asked.

“I just said one was married,” Nick pointed out. “But I mean given how they died we did ask. Friends of two of them.” Nick wandered over and pointed at the photos. “Did say they were gay, but that’s it. Otherwise no.”

John looked at him and raised an eyebrow. James nodded in agreement. Just because friends and family said no didn’t mean it wasn’t true. The Jarnul toxin was essentially an incredibly potent aphrodisiac, the violence was a side-effect of the overwhelming need. It was probably a case of physiology affected by some kind of dominance based social hierarchy. Helen had a number of theories about it. Humans were a lot more fragile physically than Jarnul’s, which is why the rough treatment usually led to death. The person affected by the Jarnul toxin was compelled to seek a mate. What little information they had, suggested that the mate would be in line with the person’s sexual preferences, but that wasn’t a hundred percent confirmed.

James moved over to the table. Bank records, perfect. It took him all of ten seconds to spot the likely connection. They’d laid the bank records out in a grid of two by three, so that each pair was together. The final transaction on record, for one of each pair, was the same.

“This transaction, it’s the last one for three of them, cash app. Where’s that?” James asked.

“It’s not a place, it’s an app,” Grissom said simply.

“Like on your phone,” Nick added. “It’s digital cash. People usually use apps like that for the privacy, means whatever they were buying won’t show up on the bank statement.”

“And you didn’t think that was significant?” John said.

James shot him a warning glance but privately he agreed with him. It was the last transaction for half the victims. Surely it was rudimentary police work to find out the last place the victim was seen alive. These transactions had taken place between 10pm and midnight. The last sighting in the file was hours earlier, when they’d left home or work.

“Sure we did but it’s hell getting the company to give up the name,” Nick said defensively. “They are real big on privacy. We’re trying to get a warrant for the name of the merchant, but their lawyers are fighting it. Besides it’s only on half of them so...”

“Half of each pair,” James corrected. He tapped the line on the bank statement. “Look at the amount. What does that suggest to you?”

“That inflation is out of control,” John said drily. “But based on today’s staggering amounts. A round of drinks perhaps.”

“The similar amounts are most suggestive,” James agreed.

“Serial killers have hunting grounds,” John continued. James saw his throat bob as John swallowed, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “Undoubtedly everyone here knows that. Can’t you reason with these lawyers? People are dying. We need their last known location.”

“They’re lawyers, man.” Nick said coolly.

Nick looked over at Grissom who nodded in resigned acceptance of the point. Grissom glanced at Brass.

Brass shrugged. “I guess I’ll call the judge again. Tell them it’s now a _federal_ priority.”

James moved to the wall of crime scene photos as Brass disappeared to his office to make the phone call. There were numerous shots of each victim from a variety of different angles. Two of them wore t-shirts, one of them a polo shirt and three of them in regular shirts. Four of them wore jeans, two of them wore slacks. It would hardly be what he would call ‘smart casual’, and certainly not acceptable at his Gentleman’s Clubs but for most establishments in Vegas? Yes, they would have probably fit right in.

“We went up against the cash app company last year, their lawyers are very-,” Grissom started to explain softly.

Out of the corner of his eye James saw John shake his head.

“I care little for your excuses,” John remarked.

James winced. John was more on edge than he’d thought but then he could understand what was going through John’s mind. John had left countless bodies strewn in his wake, as he was compelled to feed the hunger of the Dyere. There would have been many walls similar to this one, showcasing John’s victim of the month. Guilt made John irritable. It wasn’t his fault, it hadn’t been his choice, but that didn’t change the fact that it had still been him that had wielded the blade.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to let John come on this mission. John had volunteered, he’d wanted to come, but that could just be penance. James knew that John would be helpful, precisely because he had a perspective few did, or as he’d once called it an ‘affinity with evil’, though as they knew now it was less an affinity and more unwilling experience. Plus John could dissect his suppositions as no-one else could, they’d always made a good team.

“John, would you start going through the files,” James suggested. If John focused his mind on the task, it would hopefully stop his mind from torturing him. “There’s a lot of information here. I need data.”

“Salient points only, I remember,” John murmured, reaching for the nearest manila folder.

Grissom and Nick left a few minutes later. John and James worked solidly for three hours before Captain Brass returned. Between them they had methodically gone through every single piece of evidence the CSI’s and Detectives had collected. Nothing else had immediately jumped out to James, like the cash app transaction had, but the details were percolating in his brain. When they encountered new information he would now be able to draw connections, and make more informed deductions.

“Tell me you have the warrant, or are the lawyers still being ridiculous?” John asked sardonically.

Brass narrowed his eyes. James placed a hand over John’s forearm.

“Ignore him.” James smiled disarmingly.

“You were right, it was probably drinks. The charges were all made at a club - Myriad. You called it Druitt, it’s a gay club,” Brass told them. “They might have some security footage, we can ask if they remember our vics-”

“That’s a terrible plan,” James interrupted. “We’re not likely to get anything useful and if the killer learns that law enforcement has an interest in the club, they are likely to move their hunting ground.”

Brass sighed. “What do you suggest then?”

James exchanged a glance with John. He thought the answer was rather obvious, something a little bit more subtle than wading in waving a badge. “Simply go in as a patron tomorrow night. That will allow for observation without consequence.”

“Observation without consequence, ok,” Brass repeated, looking acutely uncomfortable. “It’s a gay club. I don’t think the undercover unit is really set up for that.”

“Not to worry old boy, James and I can go,” John offered.

For a moment Brass looked pained. James hadn’t heard any malice in his tone, he didn’t believe that the Captain was homophobic himself but it was a matter of politics. In his experience police departments had never been the most tolerant of places. 

Brass shrugged. “You’re the federal guys. If you think it’s worth a shot then go ahead.”

“Excellent. I’d like to see the actual evidence, and not just the photos and lab reports, where is that stored?” James asked.

“At the crime lab,” Brass replied. “Different building, you’ll need to drive over there. I can give you directions.”

John patted James on the shoulder and pulled his cellphone from his pocket. James nodded in acknowledgement. John had transported them both to Vegas, but he’d taken them to the airport where they’d hired a car. They’d driven to their hotel first, Henry had made the reservation for them, and they’d checked in before driving over to the police station. Travelling with John was infinitely preferable to driving but it was also hard to explain. At least it enabled them to skip the flight, and all the hassle that flying by plane brought.

“Boss wants a report?” Brass asked.

John hesitated, making James’ lips twitch with amusement. Technically Helen was their boss, but she was also so much more.

“Wife,” John said in the end, as he headed out the door.

James smiled softly. The three of them had never exactly exchanged vows. If it were legal to do so then they might have. A few months ago when the three of them had finally reunited in all ways, it had been as good as a promise. They’d loved each other for over a century, they couldn’t be anymore committed. They didn’t often have cause to refer to each other, because they didn’t often leave the sanctuary network and everyone there knew who they were already. Wife, husband, those really were excellent words. They gave James a warm feeling, he might have to use them more often.

“Crime lab,” James prompted.

“Right yes.” Brass reached into his inside jacket pocket, withdrawing his memo book. “I’ll write the address down for you. It’s not that far.”

*****

The following evening, James looked with interest at the surveillance van. Henry’s van had a lot of equipment but the sanctuary hadn’t had anything like this until Kate Freelander had joined them. She had a van just like this one with multiple monitors for viewing video feeds. Captain Brass hadn’t been comfortable with them just walking in there so he’d got a wire-tap warrant for Myriad’s security cameras. One of the department's techs had managed to hack the system, so Myriad still didn’t know they were coming and the police now had eyes inside.

While James appreciated that Captain Brass was basically covering himself, in case something went wrong, he really wished he hadn’t. If they found the Jarnul, they needed to inject them with the inhibitor and James really didn’t want an audience for that - it would be too hard to explain. The Captain had also insisted they both wear a wire, so the police in the van would be able to hear everything they heard and said. Fortunately he and John had mastered the art of conversing without words a century ago. A necessity in order to maintain propriety in public.

“As you can see it’s predominantly a dance club. There are seats at the bar, and some booths down the side there.” Brass pointed to the grainy black and white image on the screen.

It was a new club, there was no reason for the technology to be so old. However, James assumed that it had been a cost-saving measure. The club had put their money into the places the customers could see. Myriad was in half of a converted warehouse, and could accommodate a few hundred people at a time. James tugged at his jacket lapel. He’d let Ashley take him shopping, as it was counter-productive if they stood out, and he was sure these were nice clothes but they weren’t his clothes.

Ashley had picked out a set of casual navy trousers, a long-sleeved black t-shirt and a dark charcoal grey jacket. The cut of the jacket wasn’t what he was used to and she’d forbidden him from tucking the shirt in. John had opted for tan-coloured trousers and a textured white shirt. In James’ eyes John looked delectable, and far more the part. John certainly didn’t look half as uncomfortable as he felt.

James hated to admit it, but he rather thought he was out of his depth here.

“We’ll see it for ourselves in a moment,” John pointed out.

There was a short line outside the club but it was moving quickly. They did a final microphone check and then James and John walked over to join the back of the line. John paid the cover charge with a couple of crisp notes and they walked inside. It took considerable effort for James’ distaste not to show on his face. The noise and the lights were close to unbearable. He definitely didn’t have to worry about Captain Brass hearing them say anything suspicious, he could scarcely hear himself think, he would barely be able to hear John say anything at all. The pounding bass music was actually making his chest vibrate, and the strobing lights were migraine-inducing.

John headed straight for the bar as they’d agreed. It was a good place to begin. John shouted an order at the bartender and James leant against the bar. His eyes drifted over the heaving dance floor, taking in the layout of the place. It was a remarkably simple set up really. The bulk of the space was just this main room. There was some booth seating down the right side, with some curved and angled sofas. The door to the lavatory facilities was next to the bar. It was hard to make out in the shadows but passed all the seating booths, down at the far right, it looked like there was a door, possibly a maintenance closet.

Two whiskey’s were placed in front of them. James accepted his gratefully, taking a large mouthful. The source blood granted resistance meant he might as well have been drinking water, for all the effect a single whiskey would have, but the warmth in the rich flavour was a familiar comfort in this most unsettling of environments. Out of the corner of his eye James caught someone approaching; a young man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, with floppy dark hair and stubble. He stepped into James’ personal space, and James tensed, wary.

“Buy you a drink?” he shouted into James’ ear.

“I have one thank you.” James pointed at the whiskey on the bar in front of him.

The man rolled his eyes and James finally understood. He felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment at not having realized immediately. He was supposed to be a legendary detective, a student of human behaviour, and yet he couldn’t recognise when he was being hit on in a bar. In his defense it had been a very long time

James gestured to John. “Husband.”

“Too bad.” the man gave James one last lingering glance before heading to the other end of the bar.

John looped an arm around his waist, pressing against his side, and James relaxed a fraction. Amusement danced across John’s face and James groaned inwardly, he’d hoped that John hadn’t noticed the byplay.

“I think he has excellent taste,” John murmured into his ear. “Care to dance?”

“That’s not dancing,” James said drily.

John shrugged. “That’s not music either but I suppose it has a certain energy to it.”

James turned, leaning against the bar he surveyed the heaving crowd. It was an eclectic mix. His eyes fell on two women dancing together for a moment, but then he was drawn back to the various male couples. They were young, and all over each other; they weren’t dancing, in many cases it looked far more carnal, and not appropriate for a public space. It was wonderful to see. He’d been born into an era when intimacy between men was illegal, where his affection for John had to be carefully concealed at all times. Oh, he knew prejudice was alive and well, but these young people had a space like this club to be themselves. The world had changed dramatically in his lifetime, not always for the better, but this was definitely a step in the right direction - even with the terrible taste in ‘music’.

“And it’ll allow us to move and survey the whole area without looking suspicious,” James finished.

“Indeed.” John gave a crooked smile, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes. “So what do you say old boy? You can put your hands anywhere you want.”

James smiled and grasped John’s hand tightly, letting John lead him out onto the dance floor. The press of strangers bodies in his personal space was disconcerting, something he hadn’t felt since the war, but John was there. His solid presence an anchor in the melee, grounding him, returning to him a clarity which the situation with the lights, music and bodies, had previously stolen.

John’s arms encircled him, his front plastered to James’ back, John’s breath hot against his ear as they swayed to the beat. They twisted, and turned, winding through the dance floor. James’ eyes missed nothing, spotting the shadowed security cameras in the rafters, mentally mapping the places with spotty coverage. The bar had a good overview of the area but it was the most exposed, unlikely spot. The booth seating was on a slightly raised platform, allowing them to look down on the dance floor, and also then across back to the bar. There were also two booths that weren’t adequately covered by cameras.

The horrendous environment was a blessing. If it hadn’t been for the lights and the music, it would have been all too easy to have got distracted by the feel of John’s body against his. John and Helen had always been the perfect antidote to his overactive mind, they could quiet it like nothing else. James gestured and John nodded. Gripping tightly to his hand so they didn’t become separated, they left the side of the dance floor and took the handful of stairs to the seating level.

There wasn’t a booth available, which was a good thing, because it meant they could roam back and forth and people would just think they were searching for an available seat. It was on their second pass that James saw it, shimmering in the light of the club - scales. They were in a line on the man’s neck, a tattoo decoratively swirled around them, so it could be mistaken for art. But now he’d seen that, James saw everything. His eyes scanned him, jumping from detail to detail: the hat to cover the pointed ears, the flat nose, the posture with round shoulders, bent arms, stocky build.

Nothing on it’s own screamed abnormal. Nothing on it’s own said Jarnul. With the strobing club lights it was possible he was mistaken. This man could be human, or he could be another species of abnormal, but as always it was in the eyes that the truth was revealed. He was sitting alone, holding himself apart, but his eyes were watchful - like a predator’s. James turned, leaning into John, John bent his head and James pressed his mouth to his ear.

“Trilby hat, two o’clock.”

John looked past him, his eyes landing and James saw the gleam of agreement even before John gave a slight nod. That made James even more certain in his deduction, because John better than anyone would know a hunter when he saw one. Fortune favoured them, as suddenly the group that had occupied the seats next to their target, got up to leave. Swiftly John moved forward, gliding onto the sofa before anyone else could think to grab the seat.

James nodded towards the bar, gesturing that he was going to get another round of drinks. Really he just wanted a chance to further observe, and to allow John a chance to get the man’s measure. A man alone, waiting for his partner to return, could easily without suspicion strike up a conversation. He looked forward to hearing John’s analysis of what was said.

*****

“Evening.” John nodded at their suspect and then turned, pretending to look in the direction of the bar after James.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept an eye on him. He caught a look of speculation flash across his face and the man turned, leaning forward towards him. “Your boyfriend?”

“Husband,” John answered easily, allowing a fond smile.

They didn’t know what their serial killers criteria was. It clearly wasn’t based on looks, as the victims were various races and there was an almost thirty years age gap between the oldest and the youngest. It was possible that if this was their killer, then he’d have no interest in an established couple. Even the two victims who were known to be homosexual, their friends didn’t recognise the man they died with. However, John doubted he and James would be able to convincingly pretend they had just met. The truth would have to suffice.

“Interesting,” their suspect murmured.

His comment almost being lost to the pounding bass music. His eyes turned calculating and John had to concentrate to keep his posture relaxed, his instincts were screaming danger.

“What brings you to the club?” he asked. “Do you like to watch or be watched?”

John shrugged nonchalantly. “Both have a place.”

His lips curved as he considered the not-so-innocent question. He had never much cared for the eyes of strangers, though there was a certain thrill in being able to touch James, to show the world that they were together. However, that was almost certainly because when they’d first been together in the late 1880’s they’d had to hide it. On the other hand the eyes of those he loved? That was something different. He loved to watch James and Helen, he loved it when they were all together and he could feel the love and the warmth in their gaze. There was also a certain carnal thrill, they were gorgeous in their pleasure.

“I like to watch,” their suspect stated, his eyes flickering over John. “You put on a good show for me, hmm?”

“I thought this place had rules,” John said drily.

The notice on the way in, saying that hands needed to be kept above the belt, had caused both him and James to raise their eyebrows. If such a rule had to be stated, it said a lot about what kind of establishment this was, or perhaps that was just their 19th century sensibilities. It wasn’t the mythical Victorian prudishness which the media loved, just a sense of propriety in public. It was consent more than anything else, people could do what they liked in private, but strangers couldn’t consent to witness actions in public. It was only decent to keep such things behind closed doors.

“I might have a way round that …” he said casually. “If you make it look good.”

“I don’t know,” John hummed, being deliberately non-committal.

Their suspect held out his hand. John’s eyes flickered over to where James was weaving his way through the crowd, drinks in hand, and he decided to take the risk. If this was the Jarnul, and he was their killer, then he’d have confirmation before James returned. John took the offered hand and felt the Jarnul’s stinger pierce his palm, injecting the toxin. It was a small pain, like a pinch, if he hadn’t been waiting for it then he might not have noticed. Helen had given them an anti-toxin, James had the injector in his jacket pocket, but with his source blood granted resistance, he would probably be fine even without it.

With a satisfied look on his face the Jarnul sat back, staring at John with anticipation. James arrived, hands full with their drinks. John took them from him, putting them down on the table and tugged James down to sit with him.

“It’s him,” John breathed directly against James’ ear and then he captured his mouth.

John could feel the toxin trying to do it’s work, heating his blood. He could easily ignore it but they had to put on a good show. He licked along James’ lips until he opened for him. John gave a low groan at James’ taste and kissed him harder, wrapping his arms around him, holding him as close as their position sitting beside one another allowed.

It wasn’t enough. John twisted, hands manoeuvring James so that he fell back on the sofa and he could press himself fully against him, grinding his hips. James let out a choked moan and then John felt a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped round, a snarl forming.

“You want to fuck him?” the Jarnul arched an eyebrow. He nodded to the left. “Follow me.”

Flushed James pressed his palm against his chest, urging John to move. John shifted backwards and got to his feet. He shivered, feeling a chill now he wasn’t pressed against James, now he’d lost his warmth. James got to his feet and John crowded closer before remembering himself. This would be interesting to report to Helen later. Apparently their source blood granted resistance had one major weakness - it was hard to resist something that he very much wanted anyway. He wondered if she’d want to run tests, he certainly wouldn’t mind.

John grabbed James’ hand and headed after the Jarnul. He felt James squeeze his hand and glanced at him. In his free hand James was holding the injector of anti-toxin, he shook it in question and John nodded. James shielded the injector, holding it so that it went up his palm towards his wrist and he jabbed it in John’s thigh. He pocketed it and gave John a reassuring smile. John squeezed his hand in thanks. He was sure he would have been fine but as he’d rather die than hurt James, it was better to be certain about it.

The Jarnul led them to the door at the end of the seating booths. He pushed it open without hesitation and they moved through it, passing him into a dimly lit corridor. That raised some questions. Who was this Jarnul that no club employee had ever noticed, or tried to stop him from accessing this area, which clearly wasn’t intended for public use. The Jarnul pushed the club door shut behind them, and then pushed in front of them again.

“Almost there,” the Jarnul said soothingly, his tone at odds with the hungry look on his face.

John and James exchanged a glance. “Our friend here likes to watch,” John told James.

“Well we came to the club for an experience,” James said neutrally.

The maintenance corridor had a small office, that really wasn’t much bigger than a decent supply closet, and a cleaning closet. James reached into his jacket and withdrew the syringe containing the inhibitor drug. John took it with his free hand, holding it as James had done with the anti-toxin injector, concealing it in his palm. James rapped his knuckles against the wall. John nodded, hearing the hollow echo. It was just plasterboard, nothing of substance, and it didn’t sound like there was anything behind it. The corridor ended with another door on the side. The Jarnul opened that and they stepped out into a large open space.

There were a few steel and concrete girders to hold the roof up. John sniffed, it smelled damp, but then even in Vegas it occasionally rained. He glanced up and saw glimmers of light through patchy holes in the corrugated roof, there were similar holes in the walls. There was an access door at the far side, secured by a heavy chain. This unconverted side of the warehouse might be poorly maintained but it wasn’t unsecure. John wondered who owned this area. Maybe the Jarnul? It would explain his confidence and how he could use the side door of the club.

James tapped his arm and John tensed. His stomach lurched. They’d arrived.

A lamp glowed on the floor, lighting this area in all it’s gory glory. The centerpiece of the tableau was the support column which had a set of restraints bolted to it. Patches of dried blood on the floor told their own tale. John’s eyes flickered over the space, back towards the club, to the unpainted plywood and plasterboard outlining the office, cleaning cupboard, and maintenance corridor. It had been protected by plastic sheeting, but half of it was missing now. They knew where it had gone.

The victims had died here.

“You’ve been so patient, so controlled.” the Jarnul’s eyes gleamed, his tongue darting out, his arousal obvious. “You don’t have to resist any longer. Let go of your restraint. Fuck him how you want, how you need.”

John looked over at James. James’ lips twitched with amusement and he gestured for John to do as he willed. John let James’ hand go, and smiled at the Jarnul. He saw a faint flash of unease as the grey and red swirl enveloped him. A heartbeat later he was behind the Jarnul. He jabbed the syringe into his neck, depressing the plunger. The Jarnul tried to pull away, to turn and fight. He gave an inhuman screech of anger but it was too late. John teleported again, several feet away this time. The Jarnul’s expression contorted into absolute fury. He took a step forward and collapsed to the ground.

James smiled and John chuckled lightly. It had been over a hundred and twenty years since they’d last done that sequence but it was still devastatingly effective. John got their targets attention, James attacked unseen from behind, with a savage hit to the neck for a brachial stun. The Jarnul was even more sensitive in that area than a human, hence the protective layer of scales, but that helped protect against claws - not a blunt blow.

*****

“I’ll open the door for our friends in the LVPD,” James said.

He moved over to the chained side door. The shadows deepened the further he got from the lamp but he could just make out the chain, and the padlock which secured it. A low whistle sounded. James turned and saw John had bent over the Jarnul, he’d fished a set of keys out from his pocket and he threw them over. James caught them and raised them close to his face to make out the shapes. He selected the most likely key and smiled with satisfaction, when it slid easily into the padlock. James pulled the padlock and chain off the door, and pushed it open. He leaned round the door and spotted Captain Brass pacing further down the street. Grissom standing patiently nearby, clutching his silver crime scene case in one hand.

“Captain,” James called, giving a short wave.

Brass barked an order, and two uniformed officers appeared. They jogged towards James, with Brass and Grissom following on at a regular pace. James stepped back to let the officers inside. He saw John straighten when he saw them, and take a couple of steps back from their captured Jarnul. One of the officers drew his weapon, and the other rolled him over, drawing the Jarnul’s arms behind his back, cuffing his hands tightly. Usually James would have rolled his eyes at them pulling a gun on an unconscious man, but given that the officer was also looking at the bloodstains, James couldn’t bring himself to blame him one bit.

“I’d say this is your primary crime scene Doctor Grissom,” James remarked. “We haven’t touched anything.”

Grissom nodded absently in acknowledgement, his eyes scanning the scene before him. James understood completely, he liked to take everything in himself first too, so he didn’t say anything else. John wandered over and James felt a slight tug on his jacket pocket, as James slid the used syringe inside.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Grissom said softly. “We know from the autopsy that whatever the unknown toxin was, it stimulated certain parts of the brain relating to aggression and arousal. Presumably that’s what made one victim attack the other but this.” Grissom gestured to the obvious bloodstains. “How did he think he could control you once you’d seen this? If he’d injected the toxin in the club …” Grissom gave them an appraising glance and then shook his head. “But clearly he didn’t.”

“I have no idea,” James lied. He glanced at John. “John?”

John shrugged and James resisted the urge to look at John’s palm. There had been no mention in the autopsy of any sign of injection, but the Jarnul stinger was thinner than most needles, and the victims hands were damaged from their assault on the second victim. He wasn't surprised it had been missed. For a change James could offer no theories. They couldn’t admit that they knew anything about the toxin, and they definitely couldn’t admit that John had been injected but that he had a certain resistance anyway and an anti-toxin to ensure he had no ill effects.

“Well it doesn’t matter now, you caught him red handed,” Brass complimented. “You know I didn’t think this undercover business would actually get anywhere, but I guess you federal guys do occasionally have some good ideas.”

“Oh only occasionally,” John quipped, amusement tugging at his lips.

The officers yanked the Jarnul to his feet. He was still unconscious but they each took an arm and dragged him to the exit. Brass followed, and so James and John did the same. It was a crime scene now, and the case was solved so there was nothing for them to see. Grissom stayed, putting his kit down and clicking it open, ready to begin processing. James saw the relief on John’s face as they stepped back outside into the cool Vegas night air. He brushed his hand against John’s back. The killing lair of a serial killer was not a comfortable place for either of them.

“You certainly have very impressive undercover skills. The two of you really took one for the team.” Brass chuckled uncomfortably.

James shared an amused glance with John. He saw the question in John’s eyes and James gave an almost imperceptible nod. Perhaps they shouldn’t have been quite so professional before, but they were like it with Helen as well; when they were working, they were working and so they acted within the boundaries of propriety.

“Really Captain Brass it was no hardship,” John said, amusement leaking into his tone. “After all he is my husband.”

Brass blinked. “I thought you had a wife.”

“Oh I do,” John said easily.

James smiled as Brass gaped, and then it became clear John wasn’t going to elaborate, and somebody should probably put the poor Captain out of his misery.

“Technically none of us are legally married because you can’t marry more than one person at a time,” James explained. “But the inherent commitment in the terms suits us. We’ve all been together for many years.”

“Oh,” Brass murmured. He cleared his throat. “Well each to their own. Good job anyway. There is paperwork-”

“Isn’t there always,” John said drily.

“If it’s all the same to you Captain we’ll drop by the station in the morning to complete the paperwork,” James offered.

He was a little surprised that Captain Brass had taken the revelation of their unconventional relationship in his stride like that. However, James supposed that was unkind of him, they hardly knew the man, just a few observations over the past twenty-four hours. Plus he did live in Vegas, he probably saw far stranger on a regular basis.

“That’s fine,” Brass agreed. “I’ll just do the boring work to make the case. Interview the club employees, get their footage, get this case ready for court. That’s the federal privilege. You go on.”

“Excellent, we will.” John smirked. “Pleasure working with you Captain.”

“Yes, indeed,” James agreed warmly. “Until tomorrow Captain.”

James grabbed John’s hand as they wandered down the street. Their rental car was parked two blocks away in a long-term parking lot. As far as he was concerned it could stay there until morning. True they could return to their car and drive back to the hotel but the case was closed, and he had a much better idea.

“You should transport us home to Helen,” James suggested. John arched an eyebrow in question. “I’m sure she’ll want to examine you, make sure there’s no effects from the Jarnul toxin.” John looked faintly disgruntled and James smiled and winked at him. “And of course maybe some of that toxin needs to be worked out of your system.”

John brightened at the suggestion, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. He tugged James in the direction of the nearest alley, where they could teleport without being seen. They would have to return to Vegas in the morning, collect the car, check out of their hotel and complete the tiresome paperwork. By then a Sanctuary team would have hopefully obtained a warrant and taken custody of the Jarnul, but it might take a few more hours. It didn’t matter so long as it was done within twenty-four hours, before the inhibitor wore off and the Jarnul regained its abilities.

That was tomorrow. The rest of tonight belonged to them and James had plans, his brilliant mind being put to a far more primal use. In the alley John’s hand came up to clasp his shoulder and James stepped closer, pressing his lips against John’s even as the world spun away.

Case closed.


End file.
